


Perfect: The Fantasy

by serafina20



Series: Inevitable [3]
Category: Prison Break
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-28
Updated: 2011-01-28
Packaged: 2017-10-15 04:33:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/157069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serafina20/pseuds/serafina20





	Perfect: The Fantasy

His favorite fantasy is this:

Lincoln is safe, across the border. LJ with him. Both are happy, rich, Ready to get started on his new life.

Michael is left behind. Stays behind, whatever. He's alone. At a bar. At a motel. Somewhere. It changes each time. The location doesn't matter.

What matters is what he likes to imagine.

He's alone. He goes to the bathroom. As he walks into the hall, someone takes him by the wrist.

He smiles.

"Michael Scofield," a voice whispers into his ear. Not threatening, like in prison. Not like T-Bag. This is a caress. Admiration. Understanding.

He turns his head. "Agent Mahone."

Mahone smiles. Propels Michael down the hall, into darkness. Away from everyone until they are alone.

"Hands on the wall."

Michael complies. He's not worried about what will happen. Not frightened. He trusts this man, his nemesis, the only one ever to look at him and see into his soul.

Hands run over his shoulders. Down his back. He feels Mahone's forehead press against his waist as he runs his hands up his legs. And then, Mahone rises, forehead pressing against the curve of Michael's spine as he does. His hands draw up to Michael's waist. Pauses at the button of his slacks.

"I should be thorough," Mahone says. His breath is hot on Michael's neck, mouth right against his skin. "You're a dangerous criminal, you understand."

"I understand."

Mahone opens Michael's slacks. Slides inside. Goes unerringly for Michael's cock, already hard and ready.

"Just as I said. Armed and dangerous."

He strokes, strong and sure. Better than when Michael does it, because he hasn't practiced enough to get a good technique. Mahone's hand is warm and soft with calluses that made it all the better. And his mouth is against Michael's neck, sucking at that bit of sensitive skin above his collar bone. And when he's not sucking, he whispering to Michael, things like, "Brilliant," and "genius," and, because Michael's a sentimentalist, "love."

Because that's what it is. Either love or obsession. And Michael's been obsessed before, and it's never felt like this.

He can't help groaning. Can't help letting go. Allows himself to thrust into Mahone's hand, to let go of all thought. To give himself over because it feels so good and he can trust Mahone. Trust him not to laugh or get angry if Michael can't finish this. Only, he knows that won't be a problem because he'll be able to stay out of his head long enough to do this. To let himself come and to give himself over completely.

Sweat beads on his forehead. Sticks his shirt to his skin. His mouth falls open. His had falls onto Mahone 's shoulder.

"That's right," Mahone says. His face is right next to Michael's.

Michael turns his head, and then Mahone kisses him. And it's perfect. Absolutely perfect. Lips and tongue, and Mahone 's darts into his mouth. Massages Michael's tongue and he's thrusting in time with his strokes on Michael's cock.

And they'll be like that, in the dark, Mahone holding him, kissing him. Keeping him out of his head, inside his body, his skin, and it won't be frightening or overwhelming. He'll know he's safe, secure, and when Mahone tightens his hand and says, "Come for me, Michael. Now," Michael will just close his eyes and let himself be swept away.

* * *

The first time Michael has this fantasy, it's two weeks after he first sees Mahone. He's in the shower, constructing the fantasy almost as carefully as he did the plan. When he comes, it's the first time he has in almost three years. And he does it, loudly.

"Michael!" Lincoln is in the bathroom almost before Michael is done. He rips open the shower curtain, fear and concern written on his face.

Still shuddering, Michael looks up, guilty. His hand is still wrapped around his cock. And as if Lincoln needed any more evidence of what he'd been doing, there are splashes on the wall, beneath the shower head.

The worry on Lincoln's face is replaced with a smirk. "Ah. Never used to make noise."

Michael doesn't answer. Simply ducks his head, embarrassed.

"Well. Carry on, then." He closes the curtain, leaves the bathroom.

Humiliated, Michael closes his eyes. Ducks beneath the spray and lets the water run down his skin. He's still sensitive, a little too much so. Always happens after he comes, but it's okay. Because when he's alone, no one expects to be able to touch him, or expects him to pay them back for the orgasm right away, before he's ready.

And if he ever meets Alexander...

Well. Then it'll be okay, too. Because it's going to be perfect.


End file.
